


Smooth Like Silk

by edxwin_elric



Series: Smooth Like Silk [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Drabble, F/M, Fluff, Hair, One Shot, POV First Person, Romantic Fluff, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 06:32:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13676220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edxwin_elric/pseuds/edxwin_elric
Summary: "Why are you playing with my hair?"





	Smooth Like Silk

**_Winry_ **

_Oh! Halleluiah!_ I thought that stupid screw would never go in. I had to try three different ones before I finally got one to fit without stripping the head. And it only took me…two hours?

I blink and look at the clock hidden among the scraps on my workbench again. Is that really the time? Probably. No wonder my eyes burn. It’s past one in the morning. I haven’t stayed up this late since Ed came back to Resembool and we…

Speaking of my adorable idiot, where is he? Usually, if I start working too late, he comes to drag me away to bed. I haven’t seen him since dinner, and that was almost six hours ago.

I rise slowly from my chair and feel fatigue claw at my entire body. I need to go to bed. Maybe he’s already asleep. That would explain why he just let me keep fighting with the screw from hell for so long.

I pad softly to the bedroom and peek inside. If he is sleeping, I don’t want to wake him. He’s been working pretty hard consolidating all of his old alchemy notes and adding in the new things he learned when he was traveling. Not to mention all the manual labor he’s been doing, helping me update the house. Granny is gone on a business trip to Rush Valley. I _so_ wanted to go, but the timing wasn’t right with the clients I’ve got.

At first, I can’t see into the dark room, but after my eyes adjust, I realize the bed is empty. The whole room is. So…if he’s not here, where is he?

“Ed?” I turn and start down the stairs.

He doesn’t answer, so I start with the kitchen. If he got hungry late at night, he’d be sneaky about it because I, admittedly, nag him about eating too much sugar before bed. But I find the kitchen empty and all the sweets safely in their tins.

“Edward? Where are you?”

I hear a low snore and look over at the dining room table. It’s just Den, sleeping under a chair.

“Seriously? What is going on?” I walk into the living room and stop.

He’s sitting on the floor in front of the sofa, slumped over the coffee table where he must’ve been transcribing his notes, when he nodded off. I should wake him up. His back will be really sore if stays in that position all night.

I open my mouth to call his name again, but I stop. He looks peaceful. And younger. A lot more like the idiot kid I used to throw wrenches at all the time. Not that I don’t still throw the occasional wrench at him, just that…now it’s less often. And for different things. Like doing the damn dishes for a change.

Still. I want to enjoy this side of him. He always gets up before I do in the morning, so I never get to be the one to watch him sleep. It’s my turn now.

Tiptoeing so I don’t ruin my chance, I make my way over to his unconscious form and sink down onto the couch behind him. I pull my feet up under me so I’m sitting cross-legged and prop an elbow on my knee, resting my cheek on my hand.

His bangs are draped across his face. When he exhales, they flutter around his mouth and nose before settling back down. It’s cute. He’s cute.

No. Maybe he used to be. This Edward has outgrown “cute.” He’s…

God, my boyfriend is fine. Like _damn fine_.

I let out a soft sigh, and give him another once-over. His jaw. His lips. His ears. His stupidly broad shoulders. His unraveling braid.

I love how long his hair is. It’s almost longer than mine now.

I don’t stop to think before my fingers reach out to touch it. I gasp and recoil almost instantly.

“So,” I whisper under my breath, “you _have_ been using my shampoo. I knew it was unreasonably low.”

On the upside, rather than its usual tangled rat’s nest, his hair has taken on a supreme silkiness that I can’t keep my hands out of. Being as gentle as I can, I run my fingers the length of his braid, completely pulling it out. And then I keep doing it, repeating the motion of combing my fingers through his hair. It’s relaxing, touching him like this. And also, somehow intimate.

“Mmmphm,” he mumbles something, and my hand in his hair freezes.

 “Ed?”

“I said, ‘why are you playing with my hair?’” he grumbles hoarsely, sitting up.

“Oh.” I blink. “Um… Because it’s pretty,” I answer honestly.

“Pretty!” He jolts upright and glares at me. “My hair isn’t pretty!” he sputters. “It’s…manly!”

I suppress a giggle that I know will only annoy him more, and reach out to touch his head again.

“It’s soft,” I say instead, quietly. “I just…wanted to touch you, and you were asleep.”

“Asleep?” he frowns, losing his anger. “What time is it?”

“Almost two,” I answer honestly. “I got to a stopping place on the piece I’ve been working on, and realized you hadn’t come up to bed yet.”

“Shit,” he groans and starts to stand, using the coffee table to push up on.

“I take it that means you’re ready to go upstairs?”

“Uh, yeah.” He stretches, wincing suddenly, and reaching up to rub his neck. “You coming?”

“Yeah.” I nod, rising from my seat.

I lead the way upstairs, and go to change into something more comfortable while he just takes his clothes off and climbs into bed.

“For the record,” he murmurs, when I slide in next to him, “I liked you playing with my hair.”

“Me too,” I answer, curling into his chest. “And if you ever want to return the favor, I won’t complain.”

“Noted.”

I feel his lips in my hair, and I grin before pulling back and glaring at him.

“But if you keep lying about using my shampoo, you’ll wake up one morning with the worst hair day of your entire life.”

I swear I see him blink in surprise before he frowns indignantly and opens his mouth to retort.

“Goodnight, Edward,” I whisper over a giggle and press a kiss to the underside of his jaw.

The anger I was expecting doesn’t come. Instead, all I get is a tender forehead kiss and a whispered, “I love you, Winry,” in my ear.

Which is all I could ever ask for.

 


End file.
